


grace kelly

by singsongsung



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Veronica kind of turned out super bi in this, as evidenced by her crush on Betty Cooper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2019-01-06 16:34:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12214620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singsongsung/pseuds/singsongsung
Summary: "Veronica is ninety-nine-point-nine percent certain that Jughead loves Betty, because he keeps showing up to the damn double dates Betty organizes, which are really just Jughead and Veronica Bonding Events disguised as activities Betty justhappensto want to partake in."In which Betty wants her best friend and her boyfriend to make nice and Archie has a terrible poker face.





	grace kelly

**Author's Note:**

  * For [litladyloveshp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/litladyloveshp/gifts).



_do I attract you, do I repulse you with my queasy smile?_  
 _am I too dirty, am I too flirty, do I like what you like?_  
 _I could be wholesome, I could be loathsome_  
 _guess I'm a little bit shy_  
 _why don't you like me, why don't you like me_  
 _without making me try?_  
\- mika, "grace kelly"

 

 

Jughead is weird. 

Veronica doesn’t think she’s out of line for thinking so, doesn’t think she’d be out of line for _saying_ so, not even directly to him - he seems to wear that weirdness like a badge of honour, though she suspects the five-hundred-an-hour psychologist her parents made her see after Clarissa Walcott OD’d and nearly died would suggest that ‘shield’ might be a more appropriate term. 

He just seems so incongruous to her, especially at first, sitting across from pop-song-writing, football-playing, always-trying Archie, and the disparity is more striking still with Betty at his side, bouncy-ponytail, pink-wearing, heart-of-gold Betty. But Jughead - like her - is not necessarily the person within that his outward appearance seems to hint at. Inside, he cares, sometimes fiercely. He’s a good friend to Archie, even when they argue, and he’s a good boyfriend to Betty, much more dedicated and protective and affectionate than she ever would have expected, given his brooding, nonconformist image. 

In fact, Veronica is ninety-nine-point-nine percent certain that Jughead loves Betty, because he keeps showing up to the damn double dates Betty organizes, which are really just Jughead and Veronica Bonding Events disguised as activities Betty just _happens_ to want to partake in, a ruse she has a feeling Archie might actually be somewhat involved in as well. She knows that Jughead loves Betty because every time Betty suggests something new, he hesitates, and then looks at Betty’s too-bright eyes and pretty, hopeful smile and gives in, and that alone is enough evidence for Veronica, because the only reason _she_ keeps agreeing, over and over again, is because she loves Betty Cooper, too. 

Jughead is weird, but they’re in this together.

 

 

Betty starts things off with a classic double-date, dinner at the nicest restaurant in Greendale. After everything that’s happened in the past few weeks - Fred getting shot, her father’s return, Jughead’s move south - Veronica has to admit that it’s nice to get dressed up and head out for the evening. Betty drives her mother’s car, since both of the boys only have access to their father’s trucks, and she gets to snuggle up with Archie in the backseat during the half hour drive. Up in the front seat, Jughead says something that Veronica can’t hear, but it makes Betty laugh, cheeks pink with happiness, as Jughead ducks his head like he suddenly feels shy. It’s such a sweet moment that she finds it affecting - that’s what they all deserve, more of those careless moments of unadulterated joy - and she vows to strike up some sort of friendship with Jughead at dinner.

Things do not, however, go according to plan. Dinner itself is fine; she and Betty seem to lead the conversation, the boys interjecting occasionally, but it’s a perfectly reasonable first step in the process of getting to know her boyfriend’s best friend and her best friend’s boyfriend better. Jughead’s wit is, at times, cutting enough that she thinks he might’ve been able to keep up with the sharp-tongued girls she used to hang around with, and that’s something that definitely deserve admiration. As the dinner date winds to its conclusion after dessert (she and Betty share a sundae while Archie and Jughead inhale their own pieces of cheesecake), Archie slips an arm around her shoulders and she leans into his side, feeling completely content. 

The evening takes a turn after their bills arrive. Archie sets his bank card atop theirs and she pecks a kiss against his cheek, but on the other side of the table, things don’t appear to be going so smoothly. Jughead’s got his wallet in his hands and he’s having a hushed conversation with Betty, his head bent. Veronica catches him say something along the lines of _forgot I just got gas_ and Betty touches his arm with one of those sweet, sweet smiles of her and says _don’t worry_ before she reaches for her purse. 

The waiter arrives with the little mobile payment machine and sticks Archie’s card in it. As he’s punching in numbers, Veronica reaches for her glass of water and sees that, across from her, Betty’s eyes are wide and Jughead’s face has gone dark and she hears Betty say, in a small and worried voice, “I forgot my wallet.” 

The waiter rips Archie’s receipt off the machine and hands it to him, and then looks expectantly at Betty and Jughead. Veronica reaches out and grabs the little black folder with the bill inside. “I’m getting this one,” she tells the waiter, and takes her wallet out of her purse. 

“V,” Betty says, but Veronica stops the protests before they can begin with a wave of her hand and her prettiest smile directed toward the waiter as she tells Betty, “It’s no problem at all.” 

 

 

The silence on the drive back is terrible. Archie shifts uncomfortably on her right, like he feels stifled by the heavy air in the car. The sun has set, and in the steady, soft bursts of illumination from street lamps, Veronica can see Betty’s teeth digging into her bottom lip and the way Jughead’s face seems to have closed in on itself.

She manages to hold her tongue until Betty has pulled up in front of the Pembrooke, at which point she cannot bring herself to say goodbye as if nothing is wrong. “Okay, _what_ is the problem?” she demands. 

Betty’s brow knits. “Veronica, maybe tonight’s not the night to - ”

Jughead turns in his seat to scowl at her. “Are you serious?” He looks to Archie. “Is she serious?”

Archie looks deeply conflicted. “Jug, she only wanted to help.” 

“ _She_ didn’t help, Archie. She charged our meal on daddy’s plastic.” 

Slightly taken aback, Veronica says, “Jughead, it’s just money.” 

He looks at her like she has two heads. “ _Just money_? 

“You know what I mean,” she says on a sigh. 

“ _No_ ,” he replies pointedly. “I don’t.”

_Someone had to pay for your girlfriend’s dinner_ , her old self snaps, and the words are inching toward the tip of her tongue, her lips parting, when Betty says, “Shouldn’t you be getting in, V?” 

Veronica frowns, lower lip poking outward in the beginnings of a pout. Archie reaches over and gives her knee a squeeze. After a beat, she nods, doing her best to convey a polite goodnight to him and to Betty via that gesture, then gets out of the car and flounces into her building for Jughead’s benefit. 

 

 

Betty gives them about a week and a half to cool off. Since they go to different schools now, they have adequate space and time for themselves, but they do see each other during after school meet-ups at Pop’s. Jughead mumbles his hello and spends most of the time filling his mouth with food so that he doesn’t have to join the conversation. Veronica can feel the way her jaw sets with stubbornness and her lashes flicker in her old mean-girl way, haughtiness evident in that minute gesture. She feels bad for Betty, whose voice is so high and chipper it seems like it could crack at any moment, and for Archie, who is laughing too loudly and more often than necessary, but she was trying to be _nice_. She doesn’t think she needs to apologize for trying to be a friend.

But Betty - predictably - manages to wear her down with an earnest voice and the shine of optimism in her eyes, and Veronica finds herself spending Thursday night at a bowling alley. 

Archie is remarkably enthused about going bowling. His bright grin and his easy joy and the kiss he presses into her hair, just above her ear, make something in her chest go totally soft, and she tucks those things (that grin, that happiness, that kiss) into the carefully safeguarded corner of her heart, the place she usually keeps locked up tight. Since she’s moved to Riverdale, she’s slipped quite a lot in there, and sometimes the vault full of her most fragile parts seems like it’s threatening to burst. Betty’s soft words and slow-blooming smile are banked there as well, and for this reason, Veronica is standing by the shoe rental counter with Jughead Jones. 

“Betty wants me to apologize for overreacting the other night,” he says. “She knows - and I know - that your, uh… your heart was in the right place.” 

“Betty wants me to apologize for dismissing your feelings. I shouldn’t have been so cavalier.” 

He meets her gaze. “Thanks.” 

She shoots him a small but genuine smile, and echoes him: “Thanks.”

They go their separate ways.

 

 

They play boys versus girls, and Veronica actually has a pretty good time. The floor is a little sticky and the whole place has a strange smell and she will _definitely_ be throwing away her socks the minute her feet are out of these shoes, but sitting next to Betty, watching the boys shove fries in their mouths and chirp each other, a smile finds its way to her mouth and seems to take up residence there. Jughead looks really happy, almost carefree, and no matter how stilted their friendship might be, it’s a pretty great sight. She turns to Betty, expecting to find the blonde smiling, too, at the sight of her boyfriend enjoying himself, but instead Betty looks sort of defeated.

Veronica feels bad that the night isn’t going according to Betty’s plan, which probably involved heartfelt apologies and a warm hug between herself and Jughead, followed by the beginnings of friendly conversation. She sighs; disappointing Betty feels nearly as terrible as her rented shoes. 

“Want a slushie?” she offers, and hops up to go buy one before Betty can even reply.

 

 

The four of them go skiing; Jughead is terrible at it and bruises himself. They go to the mall, where only Betty manages to maintain enthusiasm throughout Veronica’s shopping spree. Jughead attends a dance at Riverdale High, and she can’t quite discern his reaction when he seems to catch the lie in her voice as she tells Archie that _everyone; absolutely everyone, babe_ enjoyed his musical performance. After much cajoling from Betty, they make cookies together for a fundraising bake sale, and Veronica feels distinctly embarrassed when she mixes up baking soda and powder and ruins a double batch.

In short, every activity feels at least somewhat futile, but Betty is nothing if not the embodiment of the feminist slogan she sticks inside her locker: nevertheless, she persists. 

 

 

A movie night is arranged. Time: seven p.m. Location: the Cooper residence. Betty refuses to say which movie they’ll be watching, and Veronica finds that suspicious, but she shows up gamely anyway in a comfy outfit, bag of gourmet popcorn in her hands. 

Betty leads the way downstairs, a little extra bounce in each landing of her sock feet on the steps. Archie and Jughead are both already there, slouched into either corner of the couch. Veronica joins Archie on his cushion and tucks herself into his side, wondering how badly this night has to go for her to consider pulling a throw blanket down over them and teasing him with her fingertips on the zipper of his jeans. 

“So, Juggie picked the movie,” Betty says, and moves to sit down next to her boyfriend, but he slips an arm around her waist and tugs her into his lap instead, which makes a little hybrid of smile and smirk spring to her lips. Veronica is internally cringing at the thought of what movie Jughead’s chosen (at the rate these forced hang-outs are going, she wouldn’t be surprised if it was _Un Chien Anadalou_ ), but she tells her to focus on Betty’s pleased expression and faintly rosy cheeks, and promises herself she’ll sit through the movie, whatever it may be. 

In the end she doesn’t have to guess, because she knows the film from the very first second. She turns her head sharply to look at Jughead, her hair whipping into Archie’s face. “You picked this?” 

His expression is guarded. “Yes.” 

“ _You_ picked this?” 

She can’t be sure, but the little movement in his jaw makes her suspect he’s clenching his teeth. “Betty was really into the idea of watching my favourite movie, so… ”

Veronica blinks at him. “This is _my_ favourite movie.”

“This - ” Jughead eyes her in return and then gestures to the screen. “It’s _Rear Window_.”

She rolls her eyes so hard it almost hurts. “I _know_ that, it’s my _favourite movie._ ”

“I’m going to get more popcorn,” Archie announces abruptly, lifting his arm from where it rests around her shoulders and getting up off the couch, heading for the stairs with the bowl (which is still full) in his hands. 

“I’ll come with, in case you need help finding anything,” Betty says, as though she and Archie haven’t spend nearly their entire lives in and out of one another’s homes, and the two of them scurry off. 

Silence descends in the room, save for the sound of the movie, and Veronica lets it linger for a moment before she says, dryly, “Subtle.” 

Jughead cracks a grin and shakes his head. He looks at her for a second, like he’s studying her, trying to understand something complex, and then asks, “Is this really your favourite movie?” 

She nods. “I probably should’ve guessed that it was yours. I know how you like your Hitchcock blondes.” 

He huffs a quiet laugh and says, quietly, “Guilty as charged,” and it occurs to Veronica that they’re having a moment. They’re acting like friends. 

In fact, the moment they’re having feels so friendly that Veronica’s comfortable teasing, lightly, “If only that wasn’t a sexist trope,” without worrying about it sounding like a barb.

Jughead nods and shrugs. “I’m not going to make excuses for his misogyny, but this movie is still - it’s still so good. If we take a step away through thinking about it through Mulvey’s gaze and think about gaze more generally and what Hitchcock’s saying about - ”

Veronica can’t help but interrupt, staring at him with her eyebrows slightly arched. “You’ve read Laura Mulvey?”

“Yeah,” he says simply, though she can see that his shackles have risen again, just a bit. “I like movies, Veronica.” 

“I know,” she says quickly, because she does. It’s not news that Jughead likes movies - it’s news that their tastes align so closely. “I just didn’t think… ”

“Even poor people have access to libraries.”

“Oh, stop, that wasn’t a classist thing!” she cries. “I just didn’t realize - ” She stops short when she sees the corner of his mouth twitching. She exhales slolwy. “You’re fucking with me.” 

“Yeah.” He glances briefly at the television, and they both watch as Grace Kelly seems to glide rather than walk into the scene. “We don’t know each other that well. You’re not supposed to know what I have or haven’t read.”

She bites the inside of her bottom lip briefly, and then, in a voice so soft it surprises her, says, “I’d like to.” 

Doubt is obvious in Jughead’s expression as his eyes skim over her face. “Don’t worry, I’m pretty sure Betts isn’t listening in. You don’t have to say what she’d want you to.” 

“Please; I bet there’s a nanny cam in here somewhere and she and Archie are watching us with bated breath.” 

He snorts a laugh. “Yeah, that’s a strong possibility. Think we should fake a fight?”

“Yes,” she says without missing a beat, “but first, I just want to say that I mean it. I would like to know more about you, and to be your friend. We’ll never be as close as Archie and Betty and I’m sure we’ll disagree sometimes, but I love them both, and they love you, so… ”

One of his brows quirks upward. “I didn’t know you loved Archie,” he says. His voice is gentle, and it very nearly hits her in that place in her chest that keeps turning malleable in this damn town. 

She shrugs and repeats his own words back to him: “We don’t know each other that well.”

He lifts his can of soda. “To changing that.” 

“To changing it,” Veronica agrees, and taps her can lightly against his. She takes a drink and then sets it down on the coffee table, turning on the couch so that she’s facing him fully. “Now, about this fight. I used to do theatre back at Spence, and I can fake-slap _really_ well.” 

That seems to startle a full-body laugh out of him, and when soda shoots out of his nose, Veronica claps a hand over her mouth and starts to laugh, too, and Betty comes skipping down the stairs with Archie on her heels and a pack of liquorice in her hand, and when she sees them laughing together, a smile as dazzling as the afternoon sun lights up her face, and she says, “I’ll go get paper towels.” 

 

fin.


End file.
